Recovery
by ArcherHana
Summary: Zaraki must, and will pay anything, to see her recovered.
1. Chapter 1

_**Recovering**_

CHAPTER 1

* * *

Zaraki slowly shifted the light, slender body on his back. He must be careful not to cause her any more harm. He'd noticed she'd been growing weaker and more unresponsive the longer, or faster he ran. Luckily, she hadn't resisted him, but he suspected that was because she hadn't been exactly in the state to _do _anything.

At first, he wanted to hoist her over his shoulder – one arm would remain free, very important – but the end of her hair touched the ground. Zaraki wasn't bothered by this, but he suspected she would become quite pissed at him. Glancing at the long tresses covering her face, she must be taking very good care of it, or at least loved the way it looked, otherwise she would've hacked a long portion away a long time ago. The length had remained similar...no, perhaps it had even grown a few centimetres.

Surely it bothered her in battle, long hair flowing around and blocking her view. She had to pay attention to not accidentally cut her own hair too, or allow her opponent to purposefully cut away the ends.

A different and difficult experience this. He always loved Yachiru clinging on him and yelling happily in his ear, but this dead silence, not feeling arms wrapping around his neck...it made him uncomfortable

Yes, she would become more pissed off than she would already become when she would wake up and notice she was healed, or at least healing. Zaraki had noticed his final blow was totally unfair. She hadn't blocked it. And he wasn't sure whether she was still using her Bankai. She also hadn't used that healing thing, nor called that giant manta fish to swallow her. She did nothing, as if she wanted to give up without showing all of her strength, as if she wanted to die without explaining to him why, leaving him all alone in this world.

Again.

He wouldn't accept it this time. When he was little, he had been too weak and pathetic to chase and catch what he desired, but not now.

Zaraki listened to the shallow breathing close to his ear. The blood pouring from the largest wound warmed the back of his haori. She was growing weaker, more unresponsive. She hadn't resisted him when he gently rested her against his back, but didn't assist him, either. He lost valuable time adjusting her limbs and glancing back many times to assure himself she was still there, and not his imagination.

His first impulse was to go to the Fourth, but he didn't know how much that Division knew about this side of their beloved taichou. He didn't want to leak out this carefully kept secret. He swiftly, but gently carried her to the remaining place he could think of with this time pressure.

He took abandoned alleys and sheltered paths. The sun had barely risen, indicating it was very early in the morning. Most were still fast asleep, but he couldn't risk them being seen, not in this state. He didn't know what he would do then to the witnesses.

His sword had talked to him, but he didn't really care. He was yapping about 'I can help her' and 'mastering bankai', but he wasn't interested in the second one, and he was sure he needed some training before he could help her. And how could a sword help him with this situation in the first place? He wasn't like her, he wasn't good at healing, hell, he was better at finding the way than stopping a wound from bleeding!

If he stopped to listen, it would take valuable time away, time Zaraki didn't have. Luckily, he stopped nagging about it. The Zanpakutou occasionally whispered to him, directing him where to go. It was odd, hearing another voice and he almost felt another being clinging very close to him, and suspected he couldn't shake them off, even if he wanted to. When he'd quickly grabbed the hilt and snugged it between the sash, it felt differently. But Zaraki didn't have time to think about this: he would do all this later. This, his Zanpakutou seemed to understand, and he didn't repeat his offers any more.

He rolled his eyes: finally, something that went the way he hoped for.

His eyes saw his destination and he quickened his pace. No one of the First was making their rounds here. He burst through the door, eyes immediately drawn to the figure sitting behind his office desk, glad that he wasn't resting in his personal quarters – he had absolutely no idea where that was. His eyes didn't notice one of his fukutaichous, they had their own, separated offices.

The soutaichou didn't look surprised to see Zaraki barging in at this early hour. He had sensed his presence, as most shinigami his rank probably did. He hadn't exactly been sneaking around, well, at least not his reiatsu.

He wasn't doing paperwork – something the old, wrinkled man _loved _to do. All was neatly set aside. His hands were clasped in front of him and resting on the table, the laziness in his eyes were nowhere to be seen, but he wasn't surprised. He did look a bit tired, though. Strange for someone that a while ago would take several naps a day.

The silence was pierced by the shallow, ragged breathing.

His eye travelled to the body behind him, then to his bloodied back and shoulder. Hands swiftly moved to the handrests, as if to raise himself, but he changed his mind and relaxed again and chose to pierce Zaraki with a deep, neutral stare. A long moment of silence passed, Zaraki's determined glare clashing against the soutaichou's searching gaze.

The one eye looked away as he stood. Heavy steps marched towards the window, one hand opened it. Fingers gently caught a hell butterfly. He murmured softly.

"Search for Kotetsu-fukutaichou and bring her to my office, if you please." His arm moved up, as if to free him, but he stopped himself. "And please tell her to bring her emergency supplies." With a flick of his wrist, he finally released it and watched it fluttering away, before returning to his desk. He leaned on the edge, crossed his arms and glanced at Zaraki, and then at her. He remained silent.

Zaraki unconsciously pivoted a bit, using his body to shield hers more from his knowledgeable eye. The other man smiled slightly and rested his hands on the wood. Zaraki eyed him when he heard the rustling.

Someone knocked the door hastily but firmly.

"Come in."

The fukutaichou in question entered, her shoulder carrying a heavy bag, one hand clutching the handle of a wide suitcase. Large eyes darted around the room, searching for her taichou. She quickly marched towards Zaraki when she spotted her and silently asked for his permission. Her eyes showed a hint of fear, but mostly worry for her taichou. He complimented her a bit – he always thought she was one of those fearful, useless pussies of the Fourth. But then again, this was the fukutaichou...

Zaraki reluctantly turned around and let the tall – though not as tall as he was – fukutaichou grasp her body. This need to protect her returned, just as she had protected him many times with her healing and hidden strength and passion and knowledge. She gently rested her on a stretch bed she had hastily laid down. He was a bit disappointed: he rather liked the sensation of her pressed against his back without smart comments or gentle pushes.

He carefully watched her focusing on the largest wound and barely ignored the relaxed man in that ridiculous haori, as if nothing special was happening. The woman looked even more pale now with her face glowing faintly in green light, and Zaraki noticed how tired she looked, how bloodied her clothes were, but barely torn. This was all because of him – killing and healing him countless time would weaken everyone. She looked so fragile now, as if she could float away every moment now. Away from him. Zaraki suppressed the urge to push the fukutaichou away and carry her on his back again.

The soutaichou stepped closer now, and aided the fukutaichou, giving equipment to her, accepting used tools.

Only professional requests and curt orders from the fukutaichou pierced the silence.

Blood stopped flowing, breathing became more deeper and less raspier. A bit of colour slowly returned to that pale face, but it was still not enough colour – she might still vanish the next moment.

The fukutaichou sighed. "She isn't in immediate danger any more, thankfully." She left hanging that she would still require a lot of medical attention, at least that was what Zaraki suspected.

"Thank you, Kotetsu-fukutaichou. And I apologise for this abrupt call."

She quickly moved a hand, as if waving his words away. "No, not at all, soutaichou. I was prepared for this to happen for a while now."

For a while...it made him wonder again how long they were in that deep hole...

Kenpachi didn't gaze at either of them, but only focused on the fukutaichou subtly touching the loose, black hair, almost caressing it.

"And now, soutaichou?"

"She will not be resting at your Division. They will go somewhere else to heal."

The fukutaichou's eyes glanced at Zaraki. She stood, and frowned, as if she had forgotten something and needed all her attention and strength to remember it. "Zaraki-taichou, do you need medical attention?"

Zaraki roughly shook his head. The few, shallow cuts were nothing. Most were already healed. And none were bleeding. They should be focusing on the other, much more wounded body.

She nodded and stared at her taichou again, the sad expression appearing again.

The soutaichou sighed slightly and walked towards the door. "I need to arrange a few things. It would be better for you two to remain here until I return."

He paused, one hand gripping the handle of the door and his gaze rested on Zaraki. Zaraki nodded once – he wouldn't cause a ruckus. Yet.

The fukutaichou knelt beside her again. Her hand glowed green and fingers moved towards other wounds Zaraki had caused. His body relaxed. He noticed how clenched most of his muscles had become and perched on the ground, his back barely touching the wall and his weapon positioned in such a way he could easily slice any opponent he saw. His gaze fixated themselves on the woman lying on the made bed. He was determined not to let her glide away from his gaze any longer.

Ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Zaraki decided he didn't need to see Yachiru.

First, he must solve this problem. Yachiru could take care of herself. She would be angry at him for several days, but she would always calm down after a while. She would understand. She must.

He waited, his hands carrying the much more smaller body on his back, and ignored the soutaichou – strange to use that word, he was used to just address him as 'The Old Man' – and Kotetsu. He dismissed her proposal to use the stretch bed. The soutaichou was wise not to mingle with this one, shrugging when the woman glanced at him.

She still hadn't woken up. His frown deepened, but the woman reassured him that her taichou wasn't in danger, that her body was actually trying to heal herself by sparing strength. It could also be that strange Zanpakutou's doing, but she wasn't certain.

That tall blade he had awkwardly clamped between her user and himself. He didn't want to accidentally touch it again. He had felt a presence, not unpleasant, but still peculiar and confusing. His own weapon rested on the usual place – behind the sash.

A round object swiftly sped towards them and crashed on the ground before Zaraki. The fukutaichou looked surprised, but he and the soutaichou saw it coming. A hidden door opened and a strange looking man climbed out. The fukutaichou looked even more shocked.

His bored, uninterested gaze contradicted his booming voice announcing his presence. The dry response didn't bring a different expression on his face. Bored eyes traveled to the fukutaichou, barely sweeping over her, then paused at the soutaichou for a moment, before glancing at Zaraki and resting on the body behind him. Zaraki again suppressed the urge to shield her from the outside world.

"Thank you for arriving at such short notice." The bored gaze remained on her for a moment, before it turned to the soutaichou.

"Yeah, yeah, cut the formality and let's get this going." He gestured to Zaraki to follow him, already turning his back towards him. He was about to get in the pillar, but halted when Zaraki hadn't moved, still staring distrustfully at the man almost his own length.

"Time's ticking, boy. The longer you wait, the higher the risk permanent damage will appear." He was chewing on a straw while he waited. The soutaichou turned to Zaraki. His eyes wouldn't want to see any confrontation.

Zaraki reluctantly gave in, traced the other's steps and stopped at the small entrance. He glanced at the other. He only shrugged and impatiently gestured for him to move. Zaraki growled lowly and slowly entered, mindful not to bump the lifeless body against anything. He searched a spot that wouldn't crush her and repeated to himself again and again that things would be okay.

* * *

Zaraki caught the towel, then glanced at the other. He was already removing his haori. The problem wasn't himself – he had no troubles stripping in front of strangers, but she likely had, who carefully rested on a wooden bench, the wall supporting her back. Especially since her eyes were still closed.

A towel already hugged his bare waist.

"Oi, move it!" Zaraki glanced at the direction of this voice and noticed he was in the middle of removing the last layer. Zaraki didn't move, only stared at the towel between his fingers. The other grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waistline. He noticed Zaraki switching his gaze between his hands and the unconscious woman.

"Shouldn't be too difficult stripping her, should it?" Zaraki's gaze snapped at the bored man, but a strange glint had appeared in his eyes.

"Because if you don't, _I _will do it." He swiftly marched towards his objective, quickly grabbing a longer towel on the way.

Zaraki blocked him and glared. The other man glanced back, still uninterested, then tossed the towel at him. He turned around and walked away.

"Hurry up. Join me when you're done." His body disappeared around the corner.

Fingers felt the soft fabric, before he turned towards the body. Slowly, he walked towards her and squatted down, thinking how to best do this. No way he would let a total stranger touch her. But beyond helping Yachiru dress and undress, he had no experience with this. He wasn't exactly a better choice, but hell he would let that strange man strip her!

Strange discomfort grabbed at him. Nervousness rarely grabbed him, not even the few times whores presented themselves to him, trying to seduce him. His uninterested gaze or just his tall presence chased them away. They couldn't fight, they weren't strong, so they didn't interest him.

But this was different. This was the strongest, a very graceful and respectful woman he knew. For a man, a savage like himself seeing her bare flesh, her intimate places...

But he remembered he didn't have time to dawdle. Right. He would just glance away, position his eyes in such a way he could still see what he was doing, but unfocused enough to not see any details clearly. That should do...

He shifted closer and carefully removed her sandals and socks.

His back straightened and fingers carefully grasped her small shoulder. Undressing the haori should be easy. He carefully shrugged the white fabric away from her body and carefully folded it as best as he could and gently laid it at a safe spot. He heard her remarking to him once, that the taichou's haori was a very important piece of cloth, or something in that manner. Next one should be fairly easy, too. Many usually wore one – or two – more thin layer behind it.

Zaraki parted the black fabric, but his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of bare flesh, and the dimple of her...ample chest. He grunted loudly and quickly averted his eyes. His fingers trembled, heart clashing against his chest. Damn, it was just as if he was fighting and not doing something as...well, _this. _

He breathed deeply and continued a bit more blindly. Fingers occasionally brushed against bare flesh. When the upper part became loose, he quickly let the cloth fall and grabbed the towel. He awkwardly draped it over the bare flesh. It wasn't very well done, but at least it covered most of her, and those intimate things.

He carefully grasped her and embraced her middle with one arm. The other hand grabbed the black fabric again. He slowly tugged her to himself and raised her body a little. He swiftly let it fall to her ankles. He then wrapped the towel around her and glanced at her sleeping – no, _resting – _face gently brushing against his shoulder. He rearranged and straightened the towel to cover as much skin as it could and made a firm, but easy knot at the end. He resisted the urge to kick at the little pile of clothing, and roughly grabbed it and threw them on the bench.

He glanced one more time at the woman, nodded slightly and carried her on his back.

He walked the short corridor and felt the temperature rise. Gentle splashes of water slowly fell down and reached his hearing. He turned around the corner and saw a big, hot spring, the man already lazing in it, a small towel draped over his strange hair, mouth still chewing on a straw. He eyed him and gestured to the water.

"Don't dawdle and jump."

Zaraki glanced at his back.

"Oh. You can toss her in the water."

His eyes widened and snapped back at the other. His gaze was still uninterested, but that strange glint had returned. His eyes twitched. That crazy man wasn't seriously he would-

A gust of wind whipped against his body. He could barely avoid the punch. But the weight resting on his back staggered him, and he clumsily fell in the water. He could barely twist his body to take the blow of the water. He quickly dived up for oxygen, and more importantly, for _her _not to get any water in her lungs.

A firm grip reached him, and a moment later, the weight lifted from him. He quickly reached the surface and sputtered, eyes already glaring and searching for the culprit. The man was already sitting at the exact same spot, looking as if nothing had happened. He tossed something at him. In a reflex, he caught it and glanced at his hand. Another towel?

"Put it on your head."

Confusion joined his rage. There was also something wrong. Something was missing.

"Put the towel on your head. Or do you want to die?"

He remained very confused, but slowly obeyed, feeling very stupid for doing this. His eyes strayed at the towel dangling on his head.

"Good. Now relax."

Zaraki arched his spine. Then, it hit him.

"Where is-"

"Relax. She's still here." Zaraki glanced around, but couldn't spot her. He glared. The other sighed too deeply and loudly and stretched an arm in the water. A hand pulled a part of her up, fingers gripping the shoulder, head awkwardly lulling.

"You-" He was already launching forward.

"_Relax, _I is necessary procedure. Or do you want _her _to die?" The uninterested gaze had disappeared. He looked very serious, eyes boring straight at Zaraki's. Noticing Zaraki wasn't advancing on him further, and wouldn't wrestle him, he quickly released his grip and pushed her back in the water, not gently at all.

"Seriously, you need to relax. It will take at least an hour or two for her to awake, and a few more to heal completely."

He swooped his gaze, uninterested again, over his skin, mostly devoid of damage, only a few very shallow cuts and smirked. He glanced at the water, at the spot the body had disappeared, and then closed his eyes.

Zaraki slowly lowered himself on the water, letting it soak everything till it reached his shoulder. He must admit the water felt very good, a lot better than the usual springs he visited. It revitalized his muscles, but at the same time, tiredness consumed him. He didn't know if it was because of the warm water, or his body close to her, or the sleep he'd neglected for days before the invasion finally caught up.

He leaned back on the edge and slowly closed his eyes. A few seconds closing his eyes wouldn't be such a bad idea... Just a few seconds...

* * *

Zaraki heard gentle splashes of water.

"Well, well, well. Look who's finally awake."

Zaraki opened his eyes. When did he fall asleep? And why did he allow himself to close his eyes in the first place? There was still a strange man in his presence. What if he took the chance to attack her, to wound her, to _kill _her?

Eyes immediately darted around him, but were quickly drawn towards _her_. She looked disorientated – expression not serene, not gentle, but a frown on her face. Some more color had returned, yet not nearly enough. And she didn't die from lack of oxygen.

The man tossed a towel towards her. She easily caught it and swiftly laid it on her head. She didn't look at Zaraki, even when his stare was obvious. She wasn't glancing at the other man either. It was as if she was in her own world, another world.

After a long, silent moment, she slowly moved towards the edge, one hand already reaching for the wet stones.

"So, you're going to run away again?" She paused, but didn't answer the question.

"Your role is to fight, now _Yachiru_, not standing back, going back, not _healing."_ He sucked on his straw.

"Or are you only thinking about your own selfish desires your own regrets, and not the bigger picture of this war?"

A war? Since when was there a war?

Zaraki barely held himself back from wrapping his fingers around his neck and slowly choke him to death. How dare he not show any respect and care to her? How dare he insult her so much for no good reason?

"Are you going to baby this big child here-"

Zaraki launched forward. The other man didn't evade – he could've easily done that, judging his extraordinary speed he'd shown earlier. He let himself be tossed aside. He didn't react, wasn't even looking at him. His glance was focused on her. He followed him, and blue met yellow. Her gaze was so very different from her normal shielded, serene, gentle smile. It surprised Zaraki just as much as his outburst surprised her.

So different from her smile back then, her face and words filled with emotions, her body close enough for him to pull her towards him, her not struggling against him.

Her gaze turned away to rest on the man, expression still unreadable. A long moment of silence, only broken by the gentle splashes of water. He tsk-ed and pulled himself up, not wounded at all by Zaraki. He brought a new straw out of nowhere and sucked on it. He bent down and picked the small towel up, walked back towards the spring and quickly lowered himself in the water, his eyes closing and relaxing.

She also closed her eyes, as if contemplating. Then, she showed her blue eyes again and followed the other man, lowering herself a bit more careful in the water.

Zaraki stood dumbfounded, confused by this situation, this lack of reaction. More importantly, her still refusing to look him in the eyes.

Zaraki growled, feeling a bit awkward, not knowing what to do, how to respond to this new situation.

He slowly walked towards her side, and noticed her tense. He stopped beside her, not going in the water, but staring holes in her hair. He growled more loudly at her lack of response, the drastic change in her behavior.

'Get in the water, _kid._' Zaraki glanced at him. He still had his eyes closed, not fearing for another blow, not intimidated by him at all, even taunting him. He tensed his body, but gentle splashes of water beside him lowered his gaze towards the cause. She had floated a bit away from him, as if making place for him to enter.

Zaraki reluctantly lowered himself – who was he to refuse an invitation from her? – a bit more careful not to splash her with water. It was a bit irrational: he knew a little water wouldn't hurt her, but she still appeared so fragile and weak. And images of their fight, her limp, light body, her unresponsiveness, the flowing blood. Her words, so full of emotions, her dropping her sword. Yes, he was concerned and constantly in fear.

He did his best not to move closer, but it was difficult to resist this temptation, the desire to grab her again, so she wouldn't fade away. She had already returned to her own world, a place that was impossible to reach. He couldn't reach her mind, he didn't want to lost her body, too. At least in that part, he _could _reach her, touch her, hold her.

His thigh brushed hers. He was afraid she would flee again, but luckily, she didn't. She did tense, though. He didn't turn his head to her: he knew he wouldn't get her attention.

He ignored the urge to grunt and glanced at the other, only to find him already staring straight at him. He looked relaxed, but his expression had a rare, serious quality. They stared at each other a long moment, before he _tch-ed_ again and turned his gaze away.

Zaraki felt most of his small wounds had healed. Most were minor ones anyway – she made sure of that. He felt he was about at full strength. But since neither the man or her made any movements to leave the spring, he suspected she was still healing – she did move a bit more slowly and carefully.

Zaraki shifted the towel atop is head. Even someone as dense as him noticed the thick, tense air between them. But he didn't feel fear from the man – as he expected he would – but more annoyance and holding himself back from lashing out.

On her side, a bit more difficult to feel. He could sense restraint, as if she didn't want to see the man. Either of them. Not so much as avoidance, but more like she hadn't anything useful to tell them.

But the way they both acted, it seemed they know each other. And since these people didn't return downstairs, that must mean their history could be traced back very far in the past, perhaps even before their very first meeting.

But they didn't appear to be friends, not even colleagues, or lost acquaintances. Zaraki secretly felt glad about this. He didn't like him the first time he saw him and couldn't imagine her faring better. He was glad he was right.

Gentle splashes beside him. She had shifted her body, and leaned more to the stones behind her, her body relaxing a notch, eyes fallen closed – but the cloth atop her head never left the place. Her body had leaned a bit more towards him – or at least he thought and actually hoped. Her breathing had evened out a bit more.

The other man chuckled. Zaraki eyed him glancing at her, then meeting his gaze again. He sobered and pierced him with another serious stare. After a long moment, he lifted his body up from the water and hoisted himself up. Zaraki frowned and felt her slowly and a bit sluggishly opening her eyes. He almost thought he heard her giving an annoyed, low growl at the disrupter.

That amused glint had appeared again and he smiled – but more a cross between a sneer and grin.

"I'm taking a small nap, now." He lowered his body on the stones, draped the towel over his eyes and gently blew the straw out.

Zaraki frowned deeper, and eyed her. She had a small smile on her face – did he see gratitude there? – before she shifted her body again and closed her eyes.

She still hadn't looked at him, but at least her body was very close to him. Zaraki wouldn't make the same mistake and fall asleep again. He stared at the woman and shifted his body to a more comfortable position – being careful not to edge closer to her. He refused to move away either if that was possible.

Zaraki waited.

* * *

He declined his offer to join him in his private drinking party. He watched him shrugging again and downed Zaraki's cup, before laying it aside.

"She's idiotic. Has always been." He tipped his own cup. It was hard to believe this was the person who taught her these awesome healing techniques.

"She needs to stop playing the victim and _accept _her real duty. No one – except the enemy – will profit from her being in this useless state." He sucked on his straw, nibbling on it.

"She may as well remain dead. I shouldn't had assisted her healing and _you _shouldn't had rushed around dangling her half death body around you, parading-" He looked too nonchalant at the the tip of his sword pointed towards his chin. He downed another cup and poured Zaraki fresh sake. The tip brushed his skin from the gesture, but the steel never penetrated soft tissue.

"Both idiotic." Too relaxed when he knocked the cup away from his grasp, spilling sake all over them. He gripped the hem of his weird dress and pushed his face close to him, blade resting near his neck, now. The straw tickled him.

"Why are you so mean to her?"

"I'm being realistic here. Look, your side needs every piece of strength, especially now, if not her fighting skills, then her healing. Every moment spend longer in that pathetic state is a moment closer for the cowardly scum decimating Seireitei." His Adam's apple brushed against his sword as he swallowed.

"Gotei Thirteen's first task is to protect the ground below, the first line in protecting our King, by cleaning up the trouble so we don't have to go down. Not possible if they remain shell-shocked. There's no time now for therapy sessions or gently cooing. There never is for soldiers." Slender fingers touched his sword.

"You've all already been pushing the boundaries by forcing the King's _personal _guards to come down and clean _your _mess." His eyes twitched from his words. Though he didn't understand everything of it, even someone as dense as he could feel the emotionally charged words, even if they were vocalized so nonchalantly.

"Personal feelings always come second. _She _should know that by now." No sound as his sword pierced through the shoulder. He kicking him away. He only calmly treated his wound – a mere flesh wound, he realized now – while staring and facing him almost aloof and cold. He reminded him so much of her, many times her hands hovered so closely to bared skin, her braid caressing him.

"I've been stretching _my _boundaries, too. If I had a say here, I would have kicked you two back to Soul Society by now." He stood up, his hand flinging away, green light pulsating weakly.

"But since _some _of the others will never forgive me for that, I guess I'll have to put up with seeing your faces here for a while longer." He walked past him.

"But I might change my mind if you decide to pester her with your creepy stares... or not resting."

That reminded him: he hadn't told him where he could sleep, if there was any place for him to sleep here. "No use readying a futon that wouldn't be used anyway." He disappeared from view.

Knowing that there wasn't anything else to do here, Zaraki decided to go visit her. He walked to the room where she was resting. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw a sitting cushion near the entrance. He smirked and plopped down – but, as much as it pained him, he first tossed the cushion a bit further from the entrance. He wouldn't want to scare her and face her wrath or anything without being prepared and would be his death.

It would be a true wasted chance.

Him sitting here would be an enough resting place for him.


End file.
